


After the Annunciation

by Mithen



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meegat ponders life after her destiny has been fulfilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Annunciation

I didn't believe it for long. Truly I didn't. I may not travel the stars, but I do have a brain, and I know how to use it.

It was when he was working on one of the consoles. It obviously was not working as he wanted, I could tell despite the complete lack of expression on his face. Perhaps because of it. Then he suddenly banged it with his fist, an abrupt, irritable motion. For some reason, that was the moment it really came home to me.

However, I must insist that it was not unreasonable to be a bit overawed at the beginning. There are miles and miles of corridors here, all empty and dead and silent. I had been alone in them for a long time, wandering them aimlessly when I dared to leave my post. I certainly had never expected the prophecies to come true on my watch. So when I saw him standing there, straight and slender in his silver and black, not misshapen like the surface dwellers--well, I do think I can be forgiven a little. Simply hearing another human voice for the first time in years was a shock. So I fell back on the ritual forms I had been taught, and for a while, I honestly did believe.

So why did I keep the pretense going after I realized I was dealing with a less than divine personage? I've had plenty of time to think about that. The most obvious and cynical reason, of course, would be that he seemed more likely to help a supplicant than a random person in need. But I'm not sure that's fair to him, and it really wasn't my reason at the time.

Part of it, I think, was that it seemed to make him uncomfortable. He didn't know how to deal with worship, and he didn't enjoy it, and at some level I found that endearing. I enjoyed being able to make him uneasy. It was power of a sort.

It wasn't all pretense.

I admit that to myself on nights like this, when I can't sleep and I pace the silent halls. Every few nights another light flickers and goes out, or another glowing panel goes dead. I don't know how to fix them, so I just walk through the increasing darkness. There isn't anything to wait for anymore.

"The waiting brought me you." Pretty words, the words a heroine in a book might have said. I think I even meant them.

I walk. I listen to the machinery hum and whir in the walls. I was blessed. I have seen prophecy fulfilled in my lifetime. Few people can say that.

I wonder what those other people did when the prophecy was over?

Sometimes, when I wander in the night, I make up stories to myself. About him, and the people with him. I never even learned their names, so I give them nicknames: Nervous Eyes, Big Man, Pretty. I imagine what they are doing out there, among the unimaginable stars. I write their stories. I write his story.

I try to give him happier endings than the ones I saw in his eyes.


End file.
